


Coming home

by DeVereWinterton



Series: Miss Fisher's Year of Quotes 2018 [1]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, First Time, I Was Sick When I Wrote This, Inspirational Quotes, Inspired by Poetry, January, MFMM Year of Quotes, e.e. cummings - Freeform, thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:38:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13288134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeVereWinterton/pseuds/DeVereWinterton
Summary: I swear, the title is the only pun because no one should crack funny jokes when dealing with the writings of E.E. Cummings.*snortYes, you should. A Phrack-spin on a lovely poem by Mr. Cummings.





	Coming home

**Author's Note:**

> I was invited by the lovely [MissingMissFisher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bokchoynomad/pseuds/MissingMissFisher) to join the MFMM Year of Quotes challenge. So here I am, bedridden with influenza (yes, I can do that too). I chose this particular quote because it is positively lovely, but it needed a Phrack-spin. I blame the flu for my current sense of humour (or lack thereof), need for snuggles and lack of a proper word count.  
> -DVW

_i like my body when it is with your_  
_body. It is so quite new a thing._  
_Muscles better and nerves more._  
_i like your body.  i like what it does,_  
_i like its hows.  i like to feel the spine_  
_of your body and its bones,and the trembling_  
_-firm-smooth ness and which i will_  
_again and again and again_  
_kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,_  
_i like, slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz_  
_of your electric furr,and what-is-it comes_  
_over parting flesh….And eyes big love-crumbs,_  
  
_and possibly i like the thrill_  
  
_of under me you so quite new_

 

She loved the feeling of his body. She loved having him this close to her, pressed up against her so intimately, the touch of his skin upon hers creating a marvellous tension, a delicious _frisson_. His callused roughness stroking her smooth softness into a flame. It was so quite new a thing, she mused.

The lower half of his body was covered by the crisp, white sheet. Underneath she knew his legs to be bare, save for the smalls, preserving his modesty. His need for propriety moved her as she admired him. His unrelenting need to follow the rules quite the antithesis of his behaviour last night.

His lithe form was basking in the very first rays of sunlight, streaming through the large window of her bedroom, casting a golden glow upon his skin. He looked sinfully delicious and almost ethereal at the same time, not unlike a mythical creature that would vanish as soon as she would touch him, a mere mirage, a figment of her overactive imagination.

She ached to touch him again. For him to touch her. Fleetingly, pressing down, pulling, tugging, teasing.

His one arm was raised above his head, resting on the pillow, the other held her to him as she lay, naked and draped across his chest, listening to his deep and even breathing. He felt so wonderfully _alive_ , and she squirmed, rubbing her thighs together delicately, entwining her legs with his. His muscles were wiry, but strong, as he had inadvertently demonstrated to her over and over again during their acquaintance. Holding her, carrying her, pushing her away and finally claiming her, soothingly and adoringly marking her as his own. She revelled in the realisation that she would now, and forevermore, be able to touch these muscles at her own leisure.

He sighed, and the sound reverberated through her body, skittering along her already sensitized nerve endings before settling between her legs.

She loved his decisive hands, his toned thighs, the whipcord tendons in his arms, his wide shoulders, his strong, broad back that would carry all the problems of the world for her. She loved the way his spine had nearly snapped perfectly straight in the throes of passion, before creating a sensuous arch when he’d spent himself deep inside of her. She loved everything about his body; the fire it had ignited within her own, the way it had slumped against hers, boneless, trembling and completely undone as she’d gathered him in her arms, almost as lost to the overwhelming emotions as he.

The texture of his manhood was uniquely his own, as was his flavour. A firm smoothness, delicate velvet over pulsating iron. She’d kissed him so many times, she had lost count, drunk on the taste of his lips, his tongue, his skin, his cock. She’d kissed every part of him that she could reach, leaving her own marks everywhere on his strong physique until he’d quivered with the need to touch her. To affirm that she was real, that she was there with him and that she would be there when he woke, every morning after this one.

She moved to lay her head upon his hip, the firm muscles she found there cushioning her cheek. The coarse hair of his sex tickling her, his masculine fur enticing her, endearing her. She stroked it softly, her fingertips barely touching.

She shuddered at the thought of his hardness parting her pliant and willing flesh, merging their bodies into one being, consumed by the need to feel the other. It had drowned out anything else; any other need, thought or baser urge became insignificant. It had been too much, threatening to hurl them over the edge, and yet it had not been enough.

She would _never_ get enough of this man. This wonderful creature, this gorgeous being.

He opened his eyes slowly, looking down his chest at her and smiling gently, his expression almost more relaxed than when he’d been fast asleep. His eyes were a true thing of beauty. They were so bright and blue, she felt he ought to arrest his own mother for stealing the clear skies and placing them in her son’s eyes. She swore they changed colour like the weather, turning into a murky grey whenever he was sad, or a deeper, harsher shade of blue whenever he was angry. His body was almost always composed, as was its language, but his eyes bespoke his innermost thoughts and feelings.

The way he was looking at her now made her feel inexplicably cherished.

She gazed at him through hooded eyes, her lashes dark, a sharp contrast against her ivory skin. It was such an epiphany, such a wonderful and new experience, having him here with her, underneath her. It thrilled her. She pressed impossibly closer to him, breathing him in and luxuriating in his beautiful presence.

It was so quite new, yet it felt as though they’d both come home.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't you just hate how being ill makes you all indecisive? Should I sleep, should I cook, should I do nothing? It's a conundrum.


End file.
